


Deceptive Entanglement

by LogosMinusPity



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F, IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO, Noxus, Powerplay, and do other stuff, smut challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogosMinusPity/pseuds/LogosMinusPity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Matron of the Black Rose is called the Deceiver with great reason; LeBlanc has played a great many games over the centuries, and few can be called straightforward...for either th onlooker or for her opponent.  In Katarina Du Couteau, she finds a new challenge to test herself with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deceptive Entanglement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zerrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat/gifts).



Many things had changed over the long centuries in Noxus.  The kingdom had grown, dynasties had risen to power and crashed into history, but of all that LeBlanc had seen in her many, many years of experience, the Grand Central Ballroom in the Palace of High Command was one thing that seemed to always remain the same.

High vaulted ceilings, wide colonnades, black marble trimmed with gold and green finishes...and the ever-unchanging and absolute coat of arms rendered in titanic detail above the seat of the command—the Grand General, one Jericho Swain.

Some of his predecessors had been men to keep that seat warm, to keep a watchful eye on the undercurrents of the so-called “balls” being held; others were men who mingled, integrating with the crowd to take a more hands-on approach.  Swain was a man of both, though tonight he appeared content to keep his seat upon his makeshift throne.  Darius was at his left, and the two were keeping steady conversation...nothing that LeBlanc had any interest in.  She was already privy to most of both men’s secrets, and there would be little she could learn at so public a venue as this.

Still, she wondered if, even with her current illusion as some nameless noble, he would see through the smoke and mirrors if she approached him.

Doubtlessly.  He was not without talent, Swain, and he was more than familiar with these sort of base tricks of hers.  Perhaps she _would_ go pay her respects, then, and let him have his moment and feel more secure in his view of the Matron of the Black Rose.  

No one held the throne forever.

And no one simply cast aside the Black Rose without consequences. 

Actions afterward mattered little; LeBlanc had a long, long memory.

She smirked.  Perhaps she would entertain Jericho another night.  This “party”, if it could be called that, had long since grown dull to her, and countless lifespans had taught her but one crucial lesson: boredom was the greatest enemy of them all.

LeBlanc sighed and began to move away from the pillar by which she had been resting.  There was little to be accomplished here, and there were far better uses for her time than to pose as yet another empty-headed Noxian elite.

It was easy enough to float through the large crowd, bypassing even the fold of heaviest bustle and conversation without managing to catch even the smallest of gazes.

Deception was, after all, her talent.

Yet as she passed the last balcony before the grand staircase, she paused.

The balcony doors all along the ballroom had been thrown open for the night.  It was a warm summer evening in Noxus, and while the small outdoor enclaves were normally pinned as being private refuges for the errant set of lovers or a moonlit tryst, LeBlanc knew how well they also served as inconspicuous corners for gossip, mulling, and conspiracy, all just outside the range of the main hall and the general.

Two figures stood on this particular balcony, a man and a woman, heads hunched near one another, voices pitched too low to carry beyond their immediate persons.  Whereas others would have assumed, LeBlanc instead took another soft step closer, smile tugging at her lips.  Their guarded body language was a far cry from the bedroom, and the tenor of the voices carried undertones of frustration and violence.

It seemed LeBlanc was not the only one who had been tending to the shadows on this night.

Even if the man was heavily cloaked and covered by the dim lighting, the woman would have been impossible to mistake anywhere.  Long and straight red hair, nearly a bloodied auburn in the twilight, and a distinctive pale profile.  She need only turn around, and LeBlanc knew that the left side of that pretty face would be marred by a long-since scarred wound.

Katarina Du Couteau, now the head of her household, and her adoptive brother Talon were the foremost assassins of Noxus, and in all of Runeterra. It was a rarity for such high level agents to be present in the capital, and even more so at a political ball rather than in the “field”

LeBlanc, however, knew precisely why they were both in attendance, and why the Du Couteaus, at least, would be present at many more yet to come.

Swain was about his methods again.  Even having long since secured his throne atop the great empire, some thorns were still yet to either yield or be crushed, and the house of Marcus was one of them.

Swain knew that the power of Noxus was not a position easily obtained or held on to, but he had never truly considered that the Du Couteau name would persist, that the children of Marcus would prove to be a silently unrepentant thorn in his side, and one that was not so easily removed.

It was not to say that Katarina or Talon—or truly, _anyone_ —dare directly oppose Swain.  Those who had foolishly done so in the early days of his rule had been crushed just as swiftly and decisively as Boram’s foolhardy son, leaving little question to the strength and ruthlessness of the Grand General.  A necessary tactic.

Yet the mutters still lingered, whispers of a fostered resentment.  And chief among that acrimony stood Katarina and Talon.  Swain knew as well as any that his leading assassins served him with only a scarcely-concealed measure of begrudging suspicion.  It was a potential threat, but not one that Swain could easily eliminate, not without potentially inciting full revolt from the old Darkwill elites, not with how Marcus had simply…vanished.

So instead he was forced to try to contain and control the simmerings of ill will, to limit their spheres of influence.  For the better portion of his young reign he had practically exiled the Du Couteaus, keeping them busied with assignments and the League, and as far from the heart of the Noxus as he could.  A reasonable strategy, if despairingly simplistic for a man of Swain’s intelligence and cunning.  Recently, however it seemed as he had decided on a change of plans. 

Only in the past month had he issued the strict orders to recall Katarina back to the capital city, with Talon’s summons not far behind.  The reason given was for the semi-annual report to High Command—not an unreasonable issuance—but in the wake of the assassins’ deliverance to Noxus, no further orders had been given.  No assignments had been provided, no permissions to return to League, to spy, to kill.  While other assassins in the employ of the Command came and went, for House Du Couteau, the days quickly stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months, and the two most capable assassins in all of Noxus were silently committed to an indefinite existence of balls and unspoken house arrest, all under Swain’s watchful and mistrusting eye.

It was an existence that they were very much aware of, and, if their current hushed conversation gave any indication, increasingly infuriated by.

“...bullshit, and everyone knows it!” Katarina’s hiss. “Ever since father…”

Katarina stiffened abruptly, pulling sharply away from Talon and whirling around, steel already glinting in either hand.  Her eyes immediately pinned LeBlanc’s through the darkness.  Steel wasn’t put away.

“Can we help you?” began Talon.  Katarina, however, cut him off.

“Who are you and what do you want?  Or couldn’t you see this was a private conversation, eavesdropper?”

LeBlanc smiled at the rough accusation.  Such astute observations deserved appropriate payment...as well as a reminder that they were not quite so discerning as what they might believe.

“There are many names that I have gone by, but you can call me Evaine, or Emilia.  Or LeBlanc.”

She waved her hand, and in an instant her glamour fell away.  Long blond curls shortened into dark and straight locks, her tanned skin grew pale, and wrinkles smoothed away into nothingness.

There was something deliciously refreshing about being frank every now and then, and she smiled, pleased with how it only furthered the frowns across from her.

Talon’s lips tightened into a white line, and he folded his arms—for an assassin such as him, all otherwise subtle signs that screamed of his displeasure and quiet fury.  As for Katarina, her lips curled and nose flared in the classic noble’s look of scorn that she had been born into.  But her looks were a practised mask, and where her adoptive brother was pure and unrelenting scorn, LeBlanc was increasingly certain that there was a quiet glimmer of intrigue behind Katarina’s surly facade.

Curious to see if she could not manage to draw it out more, she bowed her head ever so slightly. “You’ll have to forgive my illusionary practices...force of habit, you understand.  I do hope that your family is well, even if, sadly, not all are present.”

“For which I would count Cass lucky for not having to endure this idiocy!”

“And who on earth said that I was referring to your sister, Katarina?”

LeBlanc looked away, relishing the long seconds spent surveying the busied ballroom floor.

“What would you know about my father, witch?”

LeBlanc ignored the petty slur. “I think the question, Du Couteau, is not what I know, but what you do...or don’t.  Wouldn’t you agree now?”

 _That_ made Talon suck in a sharp and offended gasp of breath, and he managed to speak before a scant moment before his sister.

“You dare to—”

“I am merely stating fact, sir assassin.  My business is to trade in knowledge, and though you deal in death more than in espionage, you should know the value that living words have over dead bodies...even if you choose to ignore it.”

She could easily see Talon’s brow draw into an even further glower, saw the way one hand balled into a fist, no doubt itching to draw his own weapon.  But he wouldn’t, particularly not when Katarina was seizing the reins of the conversation again.

Her face was coldly calculating, her lips now drawn into a straight line that was neither a smile nor a frown, and her eyes were narrowed into slits that met LeBlanc’s unblinking and unafraid.

Her tongue darted out briefly to wet her lips.

“And what would you know, Deceiver?  What honeyed lies would you offer us?  What wild hunt would you send us on for your pleasure and Swain’s?”

LeBlanc laughed then, loudly and deliberately. “Oh my...how little you truly know.  If I had wanted that, you would still be off looking for whatever golden egg I had sent you to fetch.”

“And what’s to say that this isn’t for your amusement, that you know anything at all about what you’re insinuating.  Why wait until now if you truly know anything at all?”

She laughed a second time, and then leaned in, one hand caressing her staff. “Because while all knowledge is worth having, Du Couteau, the wise know better than to share it immediately.” She leaned back, looking out across the balcony and into the nighttime air. “I think I can offer you something you would like, Katarina…if you are willing to open your sights wide enough to see what is laid right in front of you.”

The pursing of Katarina’s lips was nearly imperceptible, but it was still there.  She unfolded her arms, and then Talon reached out, tugging gently but firmly on his sister’s jacket and drawing her attention.

“Kat.” Talon’s voice was gravely taut, like the last string of fine tuned control about to snap.  He shook his head once, and then again, both short and violent movements. “Don’t waste your time with this..this _woman_.  She only wants to play with you...or to play you.  Who knows what she expects back?”

Ah, the old General Du Couteau had done exceedingly well in selecting this man off the streets.  A pity that he was all too set in his ways.

“My dear boy.” He stiffened at the diminutive term. “Is there ever anything that truly comes for free?  Equal exchange; everything comes for a price.  The question to really ask is, is it worth it?”

She set her gaze back onto the other member of the noble household, removing Talon from her field of vision as she focused on Katarina.  There was naught else to be gained in the moment, and thus little else to be done at this ball.

But she would see to it that the seeds were properly sown before leaving.

“Marcus Du Couteau’s disappearance is one that remains a mystery to this day, his death unconfirmed.  The investigation sadly never received the attention to detail expected of it, but it was, after all, a rather tumultuous year in Noxian history books.  The Kalamanda incident, the tragic death of our great leader Boram Darkwill, the whole rising conflict with Demacia and the ascendance of our new General, Jericho.  An unfortunate reality, but perhaps one that can still be corrected.  After all, the family never truly forgets, do they?”

“And what?” asked Katarina, now with a knowing sneer. “I should come find you if I want to know more?”

Oh how little this precious girl knew of the Black Rose.  LeBlanc felt the first and familiar tendrils of a deep and dark delectation begin to unfurl within her core.  She stepped in, taking away as much of the assassin’s space as she could, but not quite touching her lips to an ear.  The way the young Du Couteau stiffened was vindictively predictable.

“Oh no, my dear... _I_ will find _you_.”

And with that, LeBlanc took her leave, slipping back into her glamour and toward the stairwell, a calm smile on her face.  She didn’t bother to look back toward the shadowed balcony for the remainder of the evening—the line had been cast; now it was her turn to wait.

 

* * *

 

Waiting took only a fortnight.

High Command was always a bustle of activity during the day—reports being sent in, new orders being sent out—and LeBlanc knew that today was one Katarina’s token reporting days to her superiors, an enforced meeting sure to drive the idle assassin to greater frustration.

She also knew that Katarina was only ever extremely punctual.  Never early, never late, but perfectly on time.  And yet nonetheless, here she was standing in the receiving all nearly half an hour early, glaring in particular at the various nobles and officers who sat at the game tables.

LeBlanc was in glamour—old habits _did_ die hard—so it was all too easy to use a shadow illusion and to sneak up right behind the woman, to lean in and simultaneously drop her magic barriers and illusions:

“Looking for me?”

She expected the assassin to whirl, blades in hand, but was sadly disappointed.  Katarina turned, slowly and calmly, crossing her arms beneath her chest; if she knew or cared for how that simple motion made her considerable cleavage press out even more from the skimpy excuse of a corset, then she did not show it.

“Evai...Emelia..whatever you call yourself.  LeBlanc.” She gave a flat, pointed stare, completely lacking patience.

Ah, the game was at hand, then.

“An assassin is ever about business, is she not?”

To her credit, Katarina raised a single eyebrow back, unflinching and unmoved.

“And I doubt a Matron of the legendary Black Rose operates any differently, no?”

LeBlanc chuckled.  It was a laugh she had perfectly over many, many long years—light and airy, but with a threatening undertone to it that could hardly be mistaken...not that a Du Couteau would balk from it.  It was true, though.  Emilia Leblanc never acted if not without purpose.  And she was indeed finding a growing desire and purpose to now match her hand against Katarina; she had her own evolving designs as much as the young woman before her...and an increasing certainty that this particular game would be more than worth her while.  It was time to bring some change into the Noxian air.  

“Well then, I see no reason why we need not mix business _and_ pleasure.  Come then.” LeBlanc began to move toward one of the tables, but Katarina dug in, resistant and shaking her head.

Katarina shook her head, though, pulling a half step back.

“I _am_ on business, and despite my lack of...assignments...High Command still expects regular reports from me.  So I have little time for _pleasure_.”

LeBlanc paused, bringing a finger to her lips thoughtfully, and watching the way that Katarina watched her, tracking her movements.  Then she spoke after a long second.

“Then perhaps our ‘business’ is better served later and elsewhere, in more discreet places than High Command...you do mean to have business with me, do you not, Katarina?”

It was hard, but she was able to discern the way that the young assassin’s shoulders grew a fraction more taut, her back a hair straighter.

“Just what do you intend?”

She laughed again, louder this time.

“I intend dinner, like any civilized Noxian.  Dinner in three days time.  I will send you a courier with the time and restaurant.  I would ask if you are busy, but I think all of High Command knows that you aren’t in line for any new assignments.”

It was a bold statement to make, even if it was accurate, but she was curious to see first-hand just how Marcus’s oldest daughter would react when pushed.

For her part, Katarina gave a pretty and undaunted scoff.

“Three days then.” There was a pause. “And make certain it’s a venue worth my while.”

As if it even needed to be stated.

 

* * *

 

LeBlanc had long since made herself comfortable on the rich satin cushions when Katarina was ushered in through the curtained door, a trail of distinctively sonorous music trailing after her.

“Ladies.” The host, a short man with a large red dot tattooed between his eyes, bowed to them both. “Your courses will begin shortly.”

LeBlanc waved him away with a casual flick of her hand, turning toward her sole guest only once he had left.

“I hope this does not fall short of expectations.”

It was a sardonically rhetorical question.  The Shurima restaurant was one of the most premier venues in Noxus, for all that it was foreign style.  It seemed the exotic charm combined with the outrageously overpriced dishes had caught on with the upper circles of the Noxian elite.  A commoner could hardly dream of ordering even a simple appetizer here...which no doubt increased the appeal to the upper circles of society.

For her part, Katarina spared a cursory glance about their dining room.  It was one of the few and very private VIP rooms that the establishment offered, and LeBlanc had quite deliberately reserved it for the evening.

Katarina said nothing of it, giving only a perfunctory nod at the choice in location.

Which said that LeBlanc had done more than well enough if her guest had no biting comment to make of it.

She waited, making no move to get up, but instead gesturing toward the lush and pillowed floor beside her, and watching all the while as Katarina finally—begrudgingly—walked around the low-set table to take her place.

Almost a pity that Katarina was dressed in full and unrevealing leathers this time.  The woman had a body that was in peak condition and form...and doubtlessly knew it.  Though perhaps her current choice in clothing had been deliberate.  The thought tickled Leblanc, made her fingers itch, made her tongue yearn to see just how far the newest head of the Du Couteau household was willing to bend for their tenuous exchange. 

It was only once Katarina had settled herself comfortably into the traditional Shuriman “seat” that she broke her own silence.  Her voice was iron, all focused intensity.

“What do you know about my fathe—”

“Patience.”

LeBlanc let her voice lash out through the air like a whip.  She schooled her features back into a smile, though, chiding. “Decorum, Katarina.  It has continued through the ages for a reason...and I am nothing if not one who adheres to it.  Surely a man as noble as your father taught you similar, did he not?”

She gestured, and in perfect time the entryway curtains drew aside as servants began to scurry in, dishes of steaming and aromatic foods loaded onto heavy silver platters.

“Besides, we are here for dinner.” One savory treat was selected from a platter in front of her. “Shall we not enjoy it?”

There was no need to look at Katarina—her thoughts were on the matter were clear—but LeBlanc didn’t particularly care.  One thing at a time.

When there was an audible sigh and then the movement to grab utensils in her peripheral, she smiled behind the morsel of meat at her lips.

Their meal proceeded in silence, not that either of them seemed to mind.  Slowly, the dishes disappeared and were then politely taken away until only a fresh decanter of red wine, placed onto the table by the host himself, remained.  He bowed once more before leaving, closing the thick curtains behind him, his footsteps quickly fading back into the restaurant proper.

LeBlanc rinsed her fingers in the bowl of rosewater, drying them on her thick napkin afterward.

“So.”

“So…” drawled LeBlanc. “Here we are. Few are brave enough to play fortunes with me, and yet despite your brother’s warning, you are still here.  Just what is it that you desire from the Black Rose?  From me?”

Katarina’s brow darkened, but her gaze did not flicker even once. “Talon is my adoptive brother, and I do as I please.  But I’m not here for fortunes or games, LeBlanc.  I’m here for answers, answers about my father, about the true nature behind his ‘mysterious’ disappearance.  I want answers, and I know that you have them.”

LeBlanc let her eyes close for a long moment, let out a pensive hum at the accusation—from others, she would not hesitate to kill for such insolence.  Few could take such a tone with Emilia LeBlanc and hope to live after the fact.  From Katarina, though, it pleased her. 

So much unassuming spirit in this one, so willing to dare her hand against LeBlanc, even knowing who and what she was.

LeBlanc hummed a second time. “And how would you know what to believe coming from my mouth?  Would you be able to discern the truth from the…?”

 _Lies_.

Katarina’s mouth drew downward into a glaring, dangerous frown.  The words that came next were clearly chosen carefully. “There is a price for everything, isn’t there?”

“You listen well,” remarked LeBlanc easily. “So let me turn the question on you then.  What can you possibly offer me of equal exchange and worth?”

Her hand slowly inched across the table as she continued to speak.

“Riches?  Connections?  _Favors_?” Upon finally reaching one pale forearm, LeBlanc allowed her finger to stray up and over the soft skin.  A muscle twitched for a brief second in Katarina’s jaw, and the fine hairs on her arm prickled and raised wherever LeBlanc unhurriedly wandered. “Those are all things that the Black Rose acquired when Du Couteau wasn’t even a whisper on the wind or a stirring in the blood...but there are some services that never grow old, and can always be rendered anew.”

“So then…?”

Katarina had still not pulled her arm away, though she glance down now at the hand that covered her.

“So that being the case, Katarina...” LeBlanc drew out each syllable in the name, letting the letters roll over her tongue and stir to life a low and controlled heat in her veins. “What can _you_ do for _me_?”

She uncoiled herself, splaying her legs out more suggestively and leaving little room out for interpretation and she made another lazy survey of the assassin’s body.

Katarina stiffened.  Her eyebrows raised toward her hairline, and the motion drew her scar even more prominently across an otherwise flawless visage.

“You…”

For once, words seemed to have failed her sharp tongue, and bemused disbelief flashed across her face.  Rather than interrupting, LeBlanc let it pass, watched, well-pleased, as the confusion faded and drew back into a calculated understanding.

There were prices for everything, and this was but the surface.

LeBlanc spoke again.

“Refill my glass.”

It amused her to see Du Couteau clench her jaw, silently furious over the complete and purposeful command.

She waited, giving a silent count to one, to two, to three.

Katarina moved with a lethal grace, picking up the crystal decanter easily.  Dark liquid poured with an unerring efficiency first into into her own glass, and then second into LeBlanc’s.

The decanter was replaced onto the tablecloth covered surface with a grudging thud.

Though her spare hand was still balled into a fist, Katarina handed over the newly filled chalice. 

LeBlanc took a slow sip and leaned back into the cushioned pillows, slowly spreading her legs further apart, leaving little question of what her asking price for the night was.

There was no need to need to taunt further, though the words teetered at the tip of her tongue.  Katarina was already pushing a pillow away with her forearm, drawing her hair back behind her neck even as she stalked over to finish closing the distance between them.

A languid smile pushed at LeBlanc’s lips when she felt those fingertips tug down at her waistband, rough, impatient to get to the task at hand...and to be done with it, doubtlessly.

She would have none of that.

When the last bits of cloth were pulled away and Katarina’s hands came back, LeBlanc batted one away with a soft slap.

“And when did I say that you could use your hands?”

She nearly expected a growl at that, but it was not forthcoming.  Instead, Katarina’s lips thinned but then relaxed, and she lowered herself fully to the floor.

The first press of a mouth at the junction of her thighs was not the hesitant touch that was prepared for.  It was was sure and unafraid, already decisive.  LeBlanc threw one arm out and into a pillow, suppressing the instinctive jerk from her hips.  Her eyes blinked rapidly for a moment, then focused on the slits of green that smirked back up at her as Katarina’s tongue began to work a harsh and rhythmic pattern in earnest.

No...LeBlanc had indeed misjudged to think that timidity would be the response, but her miscalculation—so rare these days—rather than incensing her, excited her.

Marcus Du Couteau’s eldest was already proving a far more interesting individual than the father ever was.

Let her smirk then.

With one hand, LeBlanc tangled her fingers into the silky locks of red hair between her legs, tightening her grip until she dug into the scalp, pushing that cleverly skilled mouth harder against her.  LeBlanc could feel the soft grunt against her heated core, and then even more of that delicious, velvety pressure.  Really, it was almost a crime that the younger sister was the one with the reputation of finesse in these areas—the elder Du Couteau could hardly be considered lacking.

LeBlanc felt her muscles begin to twitch and tighten in turns, until her back arched and her pelvis thrusted further outward, arching, straining, yearning…

She came with a long and drawn out sigh of pleasure, momentarily shoving Katarina even harder against her, before yanking the full head of hair away.  LeBlanc let her eyes close for only a bare second, and then fabric was easily pulled back up, and her legs were curled underneath her again soon enough, the latent and lazily warm throb the only momento of recently concluded desires.

For her part, Katarina seemed unaffected.  She shook her hair into a vague semblance of order and sat up, wiping her open and glistening mouth crudely across the sleeve of one arm.

She at least had the grace not to immediately toss back a swing of wine or water.

Feeling inordinately pleased with the course and outcome of dinner thus far, LeBlanc reached for her wine again, proffering the other glass to Katarina.  It was slowly accepted, and even while drinking, those acidic green eyes never once left hers.

The glass was half emptied by the time it was placed back onto the table.  Katarina’s long fingers toyed with the stem of it.  For a moment, LeBlanc was certain the younger woman would retract, would let her eyes flicker so briefly and nervously toward the door.  But she knew better now; she knew that Katarina was already as equally certain in pursuing her mark and goals as Leblanc, so she was far from surprised when Katarina finally cleared her throat and broke the silence.

“My father,” she began predictably.  Her voice was low, nearly subdued, but there was glinting and sharpened steel within it. “Presumed dead, missing in action...but from within the walls of our own city.  From within our very own Market District.”

Leblanc nodded, readjusting herself to more comfortable position.  A throb still persisted between her legs. “A tragedy, indeed.”

“Spare me the false theatrics!” Katarina spat, and her eyes blazed with the abrupt anger.

LeBlanc took the moment to sip her wine, in no rush.

“Let me ask: are you even certain in his death?  A missing general, a broken pocket watch, a question—

“A questionable farce of an investigation!”

She ignored the interjection as she swirled her beverage. “—and a metaphorical chain that only seems to tighten like a noose around both you and your household.”

Katarina’s voice quickly lost its heat, instead growing perilously cold. “There is nothing you have told me that is new to me, Deceiver.  Do not think to make a fool out of me or my name.”

Never.  LeBlanc had far greater aspirations than to merely toy.  Everything was toward a greater goal.

So she leaned back and began to speak, to hint, to direct.  The wise never played all of their cards as once.  Tonight...tonight was only the beginning.

 

* * *

 

The Du Couteau mansion had remained greatly unchanged throughout the generations.  Tapestries had been updated, flooring and panels had been replaced, but the waiting foyer and entrance were the same dark and stoic design as what she last recalled from many decades past.

LeBlanc ran her figures over some of the antique woodwork, smiling the slightest bit.  Yes, the Du Couteaus had done very well for themselves in the past few centuries, even if their fortunes seemed to have suffered more recently.

A change in the winds, as the Bilgewater scum would refer to it.

“You’ve been here before.”

The accusation interrupted her thoughts, and LeBlanc turned to meet Katarina.  It seemed she had let herself wander away from the receiving foyer and down into the wing where the family bedrooms were kept.

“Are you surprised by that?”

LeBlanc let the question hang, let the even more weighted questions regarding her own history and identity remain unspoken.  She was practically daring Katarina to ask.

However, the woman was smarter than many gave her credit for—Swain, among them.  His own hubris would be his undoing.

For the moment, Katarina chose to say nothing.  Her interests were not in LeBlanc or the Black Rose, and that obstinance was precisely what LeBlanc so enjoyed about the game they were playing...and had been playing for the better portion of the past few months.

Bit by bit, they had been dancing around one another, LeBlanc slowly feeding Katarina fragments of her knowledge...about Marcus, about Kalamanda, about Swain and the Darkwills, and even the Black Rose itself.  And if Katarina had discerned the long-time Matron’s purpose beyond the more carnal nature of their interactions well...then even LeBlanc was none the wiser to it.

Finally, Katarina gave a grunt, signalling for them to keep moving further into the mansion. “This way.”

“To your chambers, I presume?” LeBlanc inquired smoothly.  It was facetious of her, and earned an annoyed glance.

“Yes, where else?”

It amused her, to see the lengths with which Katarina silently went to ensure that their arrangement remained as private as possible.  Not that LeBlanc could entirely fault her; the nature of their exchanges was a personal thing.

Still, this was the Du Couteau house, and Katarina was the head of it.

So as soon as the broad door to the bedroom closed behind them, it took only a bare second before she was on Katarina, pushing at the scraps of leather and cloth, all too eager to have them out of the way.

“Wha—”

“So eager to make sure your house remains unaware that it was _you_ of all people who invited me in?” she baited, and didn’t bother to wait for Katarina to answer.  A flick of her wrist and the assassin was knocked onto the mattress by an arcane word of power.

Evaine was not a remarkable physical specimen, but that had never been a required criteria for LeBlanc.

Katarina on the other hand, was still a highly trained assassin, and her specialty was in the dealing death.  She was all lean muscle and deceptively agile strength, and LeBlanc knew herself to be utterly and completely outmatched in physical regards.  Yet she still had Katarina naked and pinned and on her back, ethereal chains of magic binding down wrists and ankles and thighs.  Katarina was for Evaine’s pleasure now, and the idea was utterly delightful.

She had all the time in the world to explore the delicious body beneath her, to savor each and every gasp and writhing moan.  After all, no matter what disinterest the Du Couteau might feign outside of the bedroom, she enjoyed this arrangement equally as LeBlanc...and that was a delectable achievement in and of itself.

Fingernails scraped down the expanse of pale and shivering skin before her.

“Just...” Katarina groaned, bound hands knotting into thin air.

“Just get on with it?” LeBlanc belittled.

She obliged, and muscles jumped at the first touch of her fingers against Katarina’s clit.  LeBlanc started to circle, falling into the familiar pattern that she knew worked so well.  But no, she thought, beginning to toy with one breast using a hand, and the other with her mouth.  She wanted more than just this from Katarina today.

She pulled her fingers back, dipped them lower, and then entered with a push.

That got a low groan, and an even more pronounced jerk of the pelvis.  LeBlanc settled into a steady cadence, gradually increasing and urging the body below her into a frenetic tempo with every rocking moan that escaped those red lips.

LeBlanc gave a hard and unrelenting thrust of her fingers, biting at the nipple between her lips. Katarina gave an immediate and strangled yelp, twitching helplessly beneath the ethereal chains, muscles clenching around LeBlanc’s fingers.

“What is it?” LeBlanc abruptly changed the pace of her thrusts, the movement of her thumb.  It was irregular and taunting, and Katarina struggled against her invisible bonds to recreate some semblance of rhythm.  It was a feeble and desperate attempt, and the more she tried to jut her hips into that teasing palm, the more LeBlanc simply pulled her hand away.

“What do you want, Katarina? Say it.” She whispered the words again above the younger woman.

Katarina’s eyes finally snapped open, liquid and lime, and burning with the intensity of simple and forthright fury.

She could practically see the words dancing on the tip of the assassin’s tongue, the urge to curse and scream at her.  But Katarina wouldn’t.  Not now.  Not anymore.

Her swollen lips moved soundlessly for a long moment, struggling, and then finally spoke.

“Please.” The words were strangled out, and LeBlanc had no doubt that the concession had quite nearly choked in Katarina’s throat. “I...I want…”

Her words cut off when LeBlanc resumed with a sharp jerk of her hand.  There was no need for her to hear the next string of words; she knew they would have come anyway.

No...now she wanted to take what was hers, to give Katarina exactly what was being asked for, and to wrap the woman around her proverbial fingers even more.

So she moved back into a hard and rough pace, savoring the sensation as those biting eyes went glassy, and as those well-formed muscles tightened around her, tensing as if threatening to snap.

Back arched, Katarina came with a loud and wordless exhalation of breath, shudders wracking through her as LeBlanc calmly pulled her hand back away.  She rolled from Katarina, immensely satisfied as—even after retracting the chain spell—the woman continue to lay in place, chest heaving and eyes closed.

Now was typically when Katarina would return the favor, or press with more questions once she was less indisposed.  This time, however, LeBlanc decided to forgo such witless regularity.  Little enough headway had been made the past few weeks; she knew that Katarina was still unable to find the elusive answers that she had been scrounging all of Noxus for.  Perhaps it was time to give her more of a ‘helpful’ push in the proper direction.

“Your father was perhaps Darkwill’s most trusted advisor, if the man could be said to have trusted anyone.”

The assassin’s eyes cracked open, wary slits now trained on the mage beside her.

“Really, for all of his famed strength as ruler, Darkwill was paranoid.  That’s why he never left the seat in Noxus, you know.  Too dangerous, and he knew as much.  But there was a tradeoff to holing himself up in this makeshift fortress—it meant he _had_ to trust someone, to rely on them to exert his will beyond the wall of this city.” LeBlanc spread her fingers out across the blanket, studying her manicured nails carefully. “He found that in your father, I suppose.  Exacting, orderly, unquestioningly dedicated.  They say that a leader is only worth as much as the men who serve under him.  Take away the keystone and…”

She made a crumbling gesture with her fingers.

“Before...you said that you’d been here before.” Katarina spoke slowly, unusually cautious.  She pushed herself up from the tangle of sheets, pushed back the threads of long and vibrant hair.  Her voice was laced with dark misgivings, quietly demanding answers.

LeBlanc willingly obliged, feeling the stirrings of something akin to victory come to life in her chest as she enunciated each and every syllable..

“Marcus Du Couteau knew me...and exactly who I was.”

Katarina surged upright, there was a flash of metal in her hand. “ _My father_ —”

“Knew _exactly_ who and what I was and am,” repeated Leblanc delighting in the clear turmoil she was causing. “From the very first time we met, he knew...and we met many more times thereafter, both in his study here and elsewhere...and always as General Marcus Du Couteau and the Matron of the Black Rose.”

She smiled, cruel and vicious, before continuing. “Now while I had no hand in his disappearance, doubtless the man who quite fully and deliberately introduced usdoes.”

“Who…?” Katarina repeated, almost dumbly, her green eyes already going distant with thought.

“My dear girl, it was our own glorious Grand General, Jericho Swain.”

“You—”

“Swain, who aimed to undo Darkwill and ascend to the highest position in Noxus.  He sacrificed everything for that...including spurning his place in the Black Rose.” LeBlanc let the edge bleed in to her voice for a moment, and then continued.  All the while, Katarina’s gaze came into sharper focus, like a storm front gaining terrible definition. “He knew that to undo Darkwill, to take that power, he needed to undo everything that that stood in his way.  He needed to slowly and quietly remove every last pillar of support.”

“You think that I haven’t looked for evidence?  That we didn’t scour the Ivory Ward or—”

“There is _always_ a trace left behind.  Always.  Your father trusted his men, but so did Swain his.  Kalamanda served more than one use in history...though not all of them were written down in the annals.  Swain is nothing if not a strategist.  Perhaps your father would still be here if he had recognized that better.”

Too much. 

Katarina had been pushed past the point of prudence.

“Get out,” she snarled, red lips pulled above white teeth. “Get out now!”

“Such haste—”

“ _Get out_!”

There was now a dagger firmly in either hand, and though LeBlanc had no worries for herself, she would detest if things became needlessly messy.

So rather than continue to antagonize, she conceded, gliding out of Katarina’s chambers and out of the Du Couteau mansion, pausing only once to laugh at an alarmed Talon as she passed him in the hallway.

 

* * *

 

There was a small measure of surprise when Katarina searched her out again...only a scant three days later, and at one of LeBlanc’s own residences.  Not her main quarters, no, but still—to find one of the Houses of the Black Rose when uninvited was no small thing, even if it was one of their less secretive of locations.

The moment Katarina was guided into the study, left alone with the Matron, she moved in a whirlwind of  fury, swiftly closing the distance between them, though no dagger was yet drawn.

LeBlanc stood...only for Katarina to shove her back onto the desk.  One hand pinned her wrists in place while the other began to tear at the tight excuse for clothing that just barely covered Evaine’s chest.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know...about my father...and about Swain.” The threat was hissed, and the grip on her wrists tightened painfully.

LeBlanc could just as easily cast a spell, could blow the woman off with an explosive word of magic.  But instead, she held.  She let Katarina push aside clothing, pinch one nipple roughly.  She let the woman bend down and bite at her ear, her neck, her breast, sure to leave marks behind.  She let a hand slip beneath her waistline and stroke hard against the ready and waiting wetness there.

She let Katarina do it all and more, because this was _exactly_ where she wanted the Sinister Blade to be, on edge, ready to lash out at anything and anyone.

It had never been a game about trust, yet she hardly needed that from Katarina.  Not then, and not now. 

After all, a warrior did not worry that his sword would trust in his hand; he need only direct the blade where to strike next.

**Author's Note:**

> For [Zerrat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat), as part of our agreed upon ~7k word League smut exchange. Z gave me quite the option of prompt to choose from , and though I was concerned about how well I would be able to do justice, I ultimately chose this prompt: Katarina/Leblanc - Kat wants power and the Black Rose can provide. Kink of interest here is powerplays.
> 
> I took it a bit in my own desired direction, but I still hope the end product was enjoyable (my biggest regret is not having more word space to work with!).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the piece, and please--all feedback is super appreciated! Thanks for reading!


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